


Never Believe It's Not So

by Atsadi



Series: Stony Exchanges [2]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Basically, Cuddling & Snuggling, Gen, Halloween Gift Exchange, M/M, Magical Accidents, Post-Avengers (2012), Spells & Enchantments, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-14 18:10:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16497644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atsadi/pseuds/Atsadi
Summary: A rogue spell leaves Tony in incredible, screaming pain... unless he's touching Steve's (and only Steve's) skin.Half-naked cuddles ensue.





	Never Believe It's Not So

**Author's Note:**

  * For [GreyMoth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMoth/gifts).



> My friend @[fourth-of-foxes](http://www.fourth-of-foxes.tumblr.com/) (GreyMoth)’s exchange partner for the SteveTony Halloween Exchange has been radio silent, even though she deserves ALL THE GIFTS. So here’s a little thing based on a very subtle comment she left me earlier today.
> 
> Prompt: _I need a fic from you where Tony needs to always be touching Steve because of a spell that will cause severe pain if he’s not (but touching Steve causes drunk-like happiness so his hands WANDER) I need it, Atsadi!!!!!!!!_
> 
> Here it is! *jazz hands*  
> 

“—pid response teams?” Fury was demanding.

“Not with all that radio interference,” Hill was replying, glaring at something on her tablet.

(Steve gently grabbed Tony’s hand from his pec and moved it back onto his shoulder.)

Clint leaned over to whisper in Nat’s ear, and whatever it was made her lips lift up in a smirk. Fury and Hill were still back-and-forthing about the utter shitshow that had been the interagency cooperation on the Avengers’ last mission, but luckily for Steve—

(He peeled Tony’s hand off of his stomach and put it back on his shoulder.)

— his active part in the post-mission debriefing was over and he just had to listen until they were set free. Or at least look like he was listening, which he figured he was pretty much pulling off. The same could not be said—

(He wrestled Tony’s fingers out of his waistband and transferred them to his uniformed thigh, pressing them there with a firm hand.)

The same could not be said for the few dozen S.H.I.E.L.D. minions who had made it their business to “take notes” at or “observe” this apparently very important Avengers debriefing session. Some of them probably needed to be there; hell, Steve was willing to give most of them the benefit of the doubt. As for the remainder…

(Tony let out a pitiful whining sound, so Steve permitted him to flip his hand over and interlace their fingers on his thigh.)

… well they, quite frankly, were snooping. Granted, it wasn’t every day that one of the Avengers was totally incapacitated on a mission. And since Iron Man was classified as a consultant and therefore more of a “break in case of emergency” kind of Avenger, it was quite rare indeed that Tony was totally incapacitated on a mission. Then it was even rarer for the given Avenger to be incapacited in a way that did not mean an extended sojourn in Medical, leaving them free to attend a debriefing.

(Tony wriggled a little on his lap, and Steve damn near bit through his own tongue.)

This was all a very rational explanation for the hoard of gaping spectators lining the walls, and even bunching together on the small mezzanine balcony overlooking the conference room. A rational explanation but, sadly, more likely just Steve trying to convince himself that they were not all there to ogle his naked chest and/or his new Tony Stark-shaped parasite. 

(With a disturbingly cute snuffle, Tony tucked his face under Steve’s jaw and breathed in deeply, which made Steve shift him to hide his own lap from the wide-eyed onlookers.)

S.H.I.E.L.D. was reluctant to classify _anything_ they encountered as magic, understandably. Or, at least, not until all other options had been considered. They were therefore currently considering toxins, pheromones, spores, brainwashing, venom, poison, noxious slime, aliens, traumatic brain injuries, a bet gone awry, and so on as the culprit for Tony’s current condition. 

Yet while Steve appreciated the principle and the thoroughness—

(What the hell, did Tony just _lick_ his ear??)

— it seemed a little unnecessary in this particular situation, counterproductive, even, since they had all seen the self-described sorcerer they’d been sent to detain do things like teleport across the room, turn Clint’s arrows into jelly worms, and zap Tony with a bright golden light while cackling maniacally.

Shame they hadn’t caught the bastard, because Steve had _questions_.

Question 1: why was Tony screaming in clear and utter agony after being hit with the light? Question 2: why did he stop screaming after Steve begged JARVIS to release the suit so he could scoop Tony into his arms (to assess the damage and attempt to calm him down)? Questions 3, 4, 5, and 6: why did the screaming start back up if Nat, Clint, Bruce, or literally anyone but Steve were the ones touching him?

And so on.

(Tony was definitely nibbling on his ear.)

The screaming and whatever pain was causing the screaming subsided when Tony’s skin touched Steve’s, and that was the total extent of their treatment so far. Except for the fact that holding Steve’s hand—as awkward as it was, it was also the most efficient way to deal with the immediate issue—left Tony coherent enough to inform them that the amount of pain he was in was inversely proportional to the amount of Steve’s skin he was in contact with.

Which led them to this point: Steve, nude from the waist up, Tony in a white tank top on his lap, curled around him like a lovelorn barnacle.

And then came the final realization.

(“Tony!” Steve hissed frantically. “We agreed no teeth or tongue!”)

Which was that the less pain Tony was in, the more his brain went in the… other direction.

And to be honest, it wasn’t the fact that Tony was getting… high? drunk? off of contact with his skin that was really getting to Steve. He liked Tony. (And even if he didn’t, he obviously wouldn’t begrudge him the relief of pain, however unorthodox the treatment.) But he liked Tony. A lot. A whole great big unrequited lot.

And everyone but Tony knew it. Those gawking newbies at the back of the peanut gallery probably knew it.

Clint leaned over the table towards Steve, speaking quietly enough not to be overheard by Fury, who was still in angry bear mode, but loud enough that Steve’s superhearing easily picked him up:

“I saw this in a movie once.”

Beside Steve, apparently taking a break from scouring Tony’s bloodwork for clues, Bruce dropped his head into his hand.

“And by ‘movie’,” Clint continued, eyebrows a-waggle. “I mean a porno.”

“Please don’t,” Steve beseeched him quietly, turning Tony’s mouth onto his shoulder rather than his neck. 

“Seems the only way to cure Tony might just be your magical healing co—”

“Barton!” Fury bellowed. “I’m sorry, are we boring you?”

Steve could have kissed him, but one inappropriate workplace assignation a day was about all he could cope with.

Tony chose that moment to bite down on the dip between his trap and his delt, which sent lightning down Steve’s spine. Thank god he didn’t have anywhere to be but this chair, because he was pretty damn sure his legs wouldn’t take his weight right now. (Never mind the other issue Tony’s ministrations were causing.)

Steve sighed. Tony hummed in satisfaction. Fury kept on yelling.

  


* * *

  


In the end, Clint was very wrong, thank all their lucky stars. The spell, or whatever the hell it was being called in Hill’s reports, wore off while Tony was sleeping.

Sleeping on Steve’s lap, mind you, in an armchair in the common area of the Tower.

“You, uh… back?” Steve asked awkwardly, when he felt Tony’s heartbeat pick up early the next morning.

Tony swore emphatically. “Yeah. Ugh. Let me have my denial for a second longer, Cap, Jesus. What time even is it? Tell me I didn’t lose a day or something. Because Pep—”

“Are you hurting?” Steve interrupted, the memory of Tony’s agonized screams fresh and clear in his mind.

“Achy,” Tony muttered after a moment. “But not like before, if that’s what you mean.”

“Stay here a bit longer, then,” Steve commanded, well-aware that Tony was about as commandable as an alley cat, but willing to give it a try. “Can’t hurt.”

There was a brief silence, then Tony relaxed from where he’d tensed up to leave, splatting back down against Steve’s naked chest. “If you insist, Captain.”

He did nuzzle into the lee of Steve’s throat though, and brought up a hand to rest on his abs, so he couldn’t have been genuinely that blasé about it. Both movements seemed actually fond rather than outright groping—most of the previous day’s touching had been the same.

(Maybe not quite so unrequited after all.)

Steve smiled and dropped his cheek onto the top of Tony’s head. All of that could wait until after Steve had gotten in some retaliatory snuggling of his own. He slipped a hand tentatively under the back of Tony’s tank, and was rewarded with a snort of laughter and a flick to the belly.

But Tony nestled closer, and Steve’s heart lifted, and it was absolutely perfect.

(Magical, even.)

  
  



End file.
